My mom and I were chatting recently about weight gain and weight loss. This has been a frequent topic for my mom for as long as I can remember. I don't blame her; the societal pressure to be thin is intense, despite the fact that the vast majority of American adults can't pull it off.
I have never felt happy with my weight. At age 10, I went straight from not thinking about it at all to thinking I was too fat. That was the age when a close friend looked at me in a swimsuit and said “Gosh, Kirsten. You're so fat.” In my mind I have been fat ever since, regardless of my actual weight.
But in retrospect, there was a time that I was arguably thin. At 13 to 14, I was my adult height but weighed 50 pounds less than I do now. In pictures you can see that my cheeks were hollow looking and I had a defined waistline. But if you had asked me at the time, I would have told you I was fat.
There are several reasons I thought that at the time. I was the biggest person among all my friends, even among most of my guy friends. I had bigger shoulders, bigger hands, bigger wrists, a bigger head. And I was heavier. I was also strong and could pick up any of my friends and carry them around, to our mutual screaming glee. While everyone else's limbs looked like a series of connected sausages, I had actual muscles. I was always bigger than other kids, as far back as I can remember. Even in preschool. And my stomach stuck out, because of, you know, my internal organs. It was not in fashion at the time to have internal organs, and I wore baggy clothes to disguise it.
I also received confirmation every year from the mandatory federal fitness tests that I was at or above the highest recommended BMI for my age and height - a measure that does not take into account lean mass at all. I still remember when my brother Erik flew into a rage at my 4th grade fitness report that declared me “overweight.” I remember him shouting “this is what causes eating disorders!” Every year after the reports were similarly dismal.
In 4th grade I mostly shrugged it off. But by middle school I was horribly anxious. I may not have had an eating disorder, but I had terrible eating habits. I had IBS, a condition I was incredibly ashamed of. I lived in fear of having to use the bathroom at school, and avoided it as best I could. That fact, coupled with my lack of organization skills required to get up on time or bring food with me, resulted in me mostly never eating breakfast or lunch between grades 6 and 12. Even when I worked in the cafeteria, where I earned free lunch, I didn't eat. I was so stressed all the time that I figured if I don't eat, I won't get sick. It was the only tool I had.
I was also getting a lot of exercise. I started Taekwondo in 7th grade and was doing 4 classes per week - two classes back to back on Mondays and Thursdays. I also did PE several days per week in school, and my primary means of transportation was my bicycle, which I regularly rode all over town.
So at 13 and 14, I was thin. But I had no idea I was thin. I was heavier than my friends, and heavier than my boyfriend. I couldn't share clothes with my friends. They wore size 2 to 6, and for most of my teenage years I wore size 8 to 10. I never wore such small junior or adult sizes - I went straight from kids’ sizes to an 8.
But I was arguably very fit, and looking back at pictures, actually thin. Certainly by today's standards, where everyone is much bigger, if not by the standards of the 90s.
But… I was unhappy. I avoided eating all day until I came home at 4:00, when I scarfed cookies to relieve my daily “cookie headache” (the phrase “low blood sugar” had not entered my lexicon yet.) I felt sick a lot of the time, particularly the days after Taekwondo which was hard on me. I was incredibly shy and self conscious, and wore baggy clothes to hide my body, which I thought was ugly. I didn't really try to diet - I hated the idea then as much as now - but when I occasionally lost weight after having the flu, I was temporarily happy to have my too-tight jeans button up more easily. It wasn't lost on me then that being happy about being sick is pretty messed up, but I still felt happy anyway. Such is the nature of our culture's obsession with thinness.
So, the last time I was thin… I was 5 foot six, weighed 125-135 pounds, didn't eat all day, worked out a lot, felt terrible, and hated my body.
Once I started driving instead of biking, and quit Taekwondo, I gained 15 pounds. By the end of high school I was 150. I look back on that now as my ideal weight.
I gained weight in college. I gained weight when Alex and I moved in together (he's a good cook, okay?) I gained weight when I had kids, and didn't lose it all. I gained weight working a desk job for decades. And I gained weight during covid, partly from overwork and partly from stress.
On average, I have gained a little over a pound for every year of adulthood. In that, I'm pretty average for American adults.
But now, although I acknowledge I am overweight - “fat” as my childhood friend informed me - I am so much happier. I eat regular, healthy meals. I am active. I exercise. I drink beer sometimes but not too much. I enjoy food, instead of punishing myself with it. I'm not a model, but I appreciate my spaceship so, so much. It has gotten me through a lot, and we've been on a lot of adventures together. What's not to love? And I bet I could still pick up my friends and carry them. Although I might pee a little.
All in all, I will take that over being thin again, any day.
Age 8 and bigger than other kids:
